


Yeah, You Love Chick Flicks

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Chick-Flick Moments, Coda, Dean Feels, Declarations Of Love, Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, First Kiss, Fluff, Gabriel Lives, Getting Together, M/M, POV Alternating, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel zaps Dean and Castiel right into a few of Dean's favorite movies ... for reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yeah, You Love Chick Flicks

**Author's Note:**

> The post going around tumblr discussing what Dean's favorite chick flicks may be made me do this. I debated expanding the story into a longer fic, but I'm obviously not able to write anything longer than 5k, so ... yeah, it's what it is I guess.

„Hey bro.“

Castiel slowly straightened from his crouch on the floor. Looking up, he registered the open green landscape around him. Turning to the voice he found himself in front of a single old cottage with old trees looming over it. On the front porch in a battered wooden rocking chair sat his brother Gabriel.

“Where am I?”

“Canada, my dear brother. Welcome to my humble abode.”

“But you are dead.” Castiel let his gaze flick left and right, waiting for an attack. This had to be a trap of some sort, though it did not seem very efficient.

“Dead, schmead. You guys always fall for it. I just needed a break and once again orchastrated my own demise. You should really know better than to trust me on these occasions.” Gabriel grinned and took a big gulp from a colourful cocktail that had materialized in his hand and looked so out of place in the ramshackle scenery that Cas had to shake his head to clear it from the image.

“Do you know what happened to Sam?”

“He is okay. A bit battered. The lady from over the pond knocked him out and put him on a plane to take him to her little club. But it will be alright, don’t worry. I always have an eye on that beautiful sasquatch.” He looked serious for a moment. "I promise. Don't worry about him."

Without warning, sorrow crashed through Cas.

“Dean…”

“… is alive. He - all of people! -, mediated the fighting siblings of doom to shake hands and be good. Oh the irony! Seems like Dean is able to use words after all – only not in cases that involve people he loves.” Gabriel winked.

Castiel nodded.

“Dean finds it hard to talk to Sam about his emotions, that is true”, he said solemny, remembering the brothers saying goodbye to each other not one hour ago.

Gabriel watched him over the little purple umbrella in his fancy drink.

“Hmm, yeah, as I see it, he’s not the only one with that particular form of deficit. Though I guess some misconceptions about other people’s feelings play into the matter, too. What do you think?”

“Yes, of course. Dean always had a problem accepting help from his friends because he didn’t himself deem worth it”, Castiel mused, thinking back to his offer to go with Dean and die by his side. He would have done it, without thinking twice.

Gabriel let his head fall back and moaned dramatically. “Okay, this is still a train wreck. I gotta think of something. Be quiet for moment, will ya?” Slurping the last bit of his drink through the pink straw, he hummed and shook his head.

“Oh, that’s an idea! The best I ever had. Or, to be fair, I had it before but we will adapt the original concept for our purposes!”

“I don’t …”

 

* * *

 

 _What the hell_ , Dean thought, looking down on himself then taking in his surroundings. One second he had walked through the woods, holding up his phone to get a signal, now he stood on the wide expanse of sunny parkland, wearing a very wet and very long and very white shirt, old-fashioned breeches and boots. Before him, on a slope, stood a mansion right out of a british movie.

And down the hill came a man. Dean could make out white trousers, a light brown shirt and wild dark hair. He took a few steps to be sure –

“Cas?”

“Dean? What –“

“Where –“

Before he could think about it he closed the distance, hugging Cas tight, drenching his clothes, too. Cas needed a second, and then closed his arms around Dean’s waist, letting his head sink down on the firm shoulder. If a few tears were spilled out of sheer gratitude, no one would ever know.

“Where are we”, murmured Cas as he reluctantly left Dean’s embrace.

“Looks like some fancy british estate. And someone zapped us here cosplaying Mr. Darcy or something.”

“Gabriel.”

“What? He’s dead.”

“Seems like he tricked us again. And he sent me here. You too I guess. But as for what purpose, I don’t know. What did you say this place is?”

“It looks exactly like Darcy’s estate in _Pride and Prejudice_. Not the 2005 version but the older BBC one with Colin Firth where he …” He trailed off, looking around and then back to his own clothes.

“Where he what, Dean.”

“He goes for a swim and when he comes back, all wet, Elizabeth Bennet is there and they meet halfway in the garden.” Dean nearly choked when the situation and the implications hit.

“Gabriel said nothing about the _why_ for his little plan?”

“He found it funny that you would be the one to counsel Chuck and Amara on talking about their feelings when it was so difficult for you to voice yours for your sibling. And he said you were not very good at reading other people’s emotions.”

Dean squinted. “You sure he talked about me talking to Sam?”

Cas looked at his shoes, clearly searching his memories. “He said you had problems to be open about your emotions. I guess I just assumed he meant Sam because in the past you two had a few miscommunications. Why?”

“Because,” Dean took a deep breath, “this here? This isn’t about Sam and me. It’s about you and me.”

 

* * *

 

 

The scenery changed abruptly. Cas found himself on a dark street in front of a friendly looking white wooden door. The door opened. Dean greeted him with a pained expression.

“I guess I got an idea where this is headed,” he groaned.

“Well, I don’t. Can you explain?”

“He’s doing the thing with the TV shows. Only it’s movies. Romantic movies as far as I can tell. And it’s not me and Sam but me and you. You know, like the time he put me and Sam in the game show and _Doctor Sexy_ and stuff?”

“Yes, I remember. But why would he do this to us? And why now?”

“The world isn’t ending for once. And I guess he is of the opinion that you and I should talk … about things.”

“What things?”

Dean stared at him for long seconds, unsure and frightened he read Cas wrong – or that he read him right all this time.

“The things we don’t talk about, Cas.”

Cas stared back.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Dean clapped his hands.

“Alright, if we want to get out of here, we have to play our parts. This is _Love, Actually_. There’s a bunch of big cards beside you. Take the black marker, and write something on them.”

“What should I write?”

“Let me see. In the movie, a man tells the wife of his best friend that he … You know what? You‘ll think of something. Something you always wanted to tell me but didn’t, okay?”

Cas seemed to digest the idea slowly, then nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll close the door and you knock as soon as you’re ready.”

Dean shut the door and leaned his forehead against it, while his trembling hand still cradled the doorknob. So this is it. Of all the ways he came up with over the years how he and Cas could find the time and courage to talk it out, he had never ever imagined this.

And the biggest problem was – he didn’t even know if Cas felt the same, if the angel was even able to feel this way. Sure, they had this bond. But Dean had always kept to the safe side, forcing himself to treat it as a special friendship and explaining all the odd behavior with the fact that Cas was a freaking angel.

But if Gabe sent them here, he must be sure that Cas felt something deeper, too, didn’t he? Well, I’m gonna find out, Dean thought, and opened the door at the first careful knock.

“I have written something on each of the five cards. What now?”

“You show them to me, one at a time. Slowly so I can read, okay?”

Cas held the cards in front of him. The first one read: _You snore._

“Gee thanks, Cas.” He rubbed his neck. “And yes, it still creeps me out that you even know that.”

The second read: _I like hamburgers mostly because you like making them so much._

Dean’s eyes flitted up to Cas’. Was that nervousness in his gaze? Without breaking eye contact, Cas took the second card away to reveal the third.

_Naomi made me kill a thousand versions of you. It felt like I died with you every single time._

Dean gasped. “So in the crypt … you … how did you stop?”

Cas looked down while revealing the fourth one. Dean couldn’t be sure in the dim light spilling out the hall, but Cas’ hand shook.

 _I don’t know the word that describes our connection but I know it’s not_ brother _._

That one hurt. The moment the phrase had left his mouth in the car, he could have punched himself. But it had been the only option, he had been sure, to reassure Cas of his place in the Winchester family once he was gone. There simply hadn’t been time for another explanation, for a word that would cut too deep to the bone, for laying himself bare. And what good would have come from it? Dean had been sure to die that day. No need to add to Cas’ heartbreak by implying there had always been more and he had just been too much of a coward to admit it.

Dean waited for the last card with equal parts hope and dread.

_Cake tastes way better than pie._

Dean huffed out a laugh. Cas smiled at him, clearly pleased with his joke. On the other hand, maybe that was something he really hadn’t dared tell Dean, who knew.

He clapped Cas on the shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. “See, that wasn’t so bad. If it follows the old pattern, we should zap to the next movie or back home now.”

They waited for a few minutes but nothing happened.

Dean tried to remember the details of the scene. Andrew Lincoln showed his cards, then he went down the street. And then … Keira Knightley followed him. He led Cas a few steps down the cobblestone street. And there, under the soft glow of a street lamp, he remembered.

“Ummm, Cas? We have to play along to end this scene …”

“I don’t know the movie. What are we supposed to do?”

“This”. Dean took Cas’ face gently in his hands and brushed his lips over Cas’ mouth lightly. It was soft and inviting and over before it even began as Dean stepped back immediately.

“Was that okay?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas smiled his special smile, one that Dean had seen so many times but still didn’t know what it meant. It was sad somehow, but there was also a question in there, and so much emotion Dean had to look away – always – after a few seconds. When he did this time, the scene changed again.

 

* * *

 

 

The streets of London vanished and were replaced by a classroom.

Dean stood in front of row after row of teenagers. In one of the seats he found Cas, still looking unsure after the kiss.

 _Which movie_ , Dean thought frantically. _What am I supposed to do?_

The teacher told one of the students to remove his sunglasses. The kid wearing an offensive yellow sweater obviously tried to hide his broken nose. _Oh please no_ , Dean thought. He looked down to see his white shirt had some glittery applications. He held an open folder in his hand, but the page he looked at was empty. His hands shook and a lonely drop of cold sweat slowly made its way down his spine. There was a reason he didn’t do the love confession thing and he sure as hell never had to do something like this in front of an audience.

Distant memories from his high school years bubbled up. He had always been the strange new kid that didn’t even have a mother and behaved way too old for his years. Others mistook it for arrogance but it wasn’t that. Or maybe it was, maybe arrogance always stemmed from insecurity and the need to put distance between oneself and the world, who knew. One thing he was sure of, though. He would never have done anything like this, never in a thousand years, not for Rhonda Hurley, not for Cassie, not for Lisa. But he would do it for Cas.

Steeling himself, he tried to remember the lines.

Then he closed his eyes and started with a quiet voice.

“I hate the way you talk and the mess that is your hair.

I hate it when you drive my car.

I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb trench coat and the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.”

He had to laugh at that. Looking up, he met Cas’ wide open, shocked eyes. He had to think Dean meant it. But Dean carried on, hoping the punch line of the worst poem of all times wouldn’t be lost on him.

“I hate the way you're – mostly – right.

I hate it when you lie.”

Searching Cas’ eyes for clues and seeing the flash of hurt in it, he put all the things that he had bottled up for going on eight years now in his next words.

“I hate it when you zap me places, I hate your backwards tie.

I hate it that you're not around, and the fact that you said yes.“

He went over to Cas and took his face in his hands, feeling tears run down his own cheeks and wiping Cas’ away with his thumbs. He felt himself drown in the endless blue stare meeting his own. With a choked whisper he added,

“But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

 

* * *

 

 

A thousand sensations invaded Dean’s body all at once. No longer in a class room – but – naked, warm water, white suds clinging to his skin, tears still drying on his cheeks, a breath down his neck, SKIN, pressed to his back, humid air, the sloshing of water. He froze and closed his eyes, hoping Gabriel saw his mistake and would send them to their next destination. That had to be Cas sitting behind him, those were Cas’ legs around him, Cas’ chest he leaned on, Cas’ mouth so close to his neck. Cas’ – no, don’t go there.

He cleared his throat and asked in a thin voice, “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean. I can only apologize for my brother. I don’t know why he would put you in an uncomfortable situation like this.”

“No kidding. Wait. Did you say ‘you’? Isn’t his uncomfortable for you too?”

Cas sat back a little at that. _Interesting_.

“I find the thought of taking a bath with you rather enjoyable,” he grumbled, and Dean was very sure in that moment that he used this wooden choice of words as a tactic. Dean had learned to translate Cas-speak rather well in the last few years. And the combination of him putting distance between them, the steady huffs of breath Dean could _feel_ and his words conveyed “Fuck yes, I’m down for fooling around in a tub with you” as loud as a neon sign. But still, Dean couldn’t be sure. He could never be sure.

Was that what this scene was about? He tried to remember what Julia Roberts and Richard Gere talked about lying in that tub.

“Dean? Do you know what Gabriel wants from us? Is this a scene from a movie?”

“Yeah, it’s _Pretty Woman_. But I’m not sure why he chose it. The person whose role I play here talks about his father and the other one offers comfort… and wraps… she wraps her legs around him as an act of therapy. It’s a joke.”

“I don’t understand.” Cas sounded awfully insecure for a being that had existed for millennia. He seemed to debate which part of the plot he wanted to address first.

“Do you want to talk about your father?” he asked quietly after a while, still keeping his distance.

“I … don’t know how, Cas, seriously.”

He tried to sort his thoughts on the matter. There were a lot of them. In the last years, he had taken his time to look at the actions of John Winchester a bit more closely than he let himself before. Seeing Cas with Claire, seeing Jody with Alex had made him question the way his childhood played out even more. He fumbled for words – because he really wanted to talk about it, but he wasn’t even sure about his own feelings. The jury was still out on that.

“I’d like to say I hate him for everything he put on me. I’d like to say I forgive him for stealing so many good things from my life. I would really like to say I love him because he did the best he could. But none of it is true, not really.”

Dean took a deep breath.

“He made me who I am, more than anyone else. He made me become a fighter. But he made me like this too ....”

He sank forward, let his face sink down into his hands, elbows on his knees.

“How did he make you?” was all Cas asked.

“Scared shitless.” He chuckled without a trace of humor and with a lot of self-loathing bitterness. “I can handle ghouls and werewolves with a hand tied to my back, but the thought of leaning back two inches… it terrifies me, Cas.”

“Oh,” was all Cas said. And Dean could nearly hear his walls go up, the opportunity slipping through his fingers.

“And not doing it terrifies me even more,” Dean whispered.

A warm hand landed on his back, slowly moving over his shoulder blades, up his neck and down his spine till it reached the water. Dean relaxed under the affectionate gesture and just enjoyed the touch. Cas reached up again, fitting his palm over the long gone hand print.

Dean could feel his eyes on him, and imagined Cas had wanted to see his hand there again for a long time. He reached up to put his own fingers on Cas’. Maybe it was a small dose of grace Cas send him or maybe it was just their bond or maybe it was the realization that after everything they survived together, after seeing each other at their worst, there was no right or wrong here, no one to judge. They both deserved something good and they could share whatever Cas was ready to share. Dean just opened his mouth to tell him as much when Cas tightened his grip and pulled Dean back to him.

Whoaa, okay. Cas was obviously tired of being subtle. The rock hard erection Dean felt on his lower back was not. Neither tired nor subtle, that is. Dean moaned at the feeling and his own blood rushed through him to make his own cock harden in response.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have …” Cas stumbled over the words, interrupted by little gasps while he rocked in small probably involuntary movements against Dean’s ass.

Dean just took the hand from his shoulder and put it on his dick to shut Cas up.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

 

* * *

 

 

Standing upright, back in too tight jeans in a dimly lit room made Cas dizzy for a moment. He wore nothing beside exactly those trousers, his bare feet a few inches apart on the battered wooden floor.

Dean stood at the other side of the room, still panting. He was clad in jeans too. Cas let his eyes roam over his bare chest that heaved with every inhale. He had seen him naked before, knew every molecule that made him Dean Winchester – but this was different. He felt Dean’s heated gaze on him, helpless just like himself not to seize the opportunity, and unsure like himself most likely as to how to proceed.

Cas bought some time looking around. They had been sent to a small cabin, cluttered with clothes and books. A large bed made up most of the room. The interior was well used and looked like it came from another time. An old record player stood in the corner, suddenly starting to play. When the first notes of a new song waved through the room, Dean chuckled. He moved slowly, closing the distance between them. When he was right in front of Cas, he murmured “Do you want this? Me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Okay. Dance with me.”

Dean put his arms around Cas’ neck, pulled him close and began to sway to the music. Cas hadn’t known music could be _sexual_ but this song somehow was. Dean’s cheek pressed into his, hot and scratchy. Their bodies moved slowly together.

Dean stepped back and let his hand stay on Cas’ shoulder while he circled him. When he stood behind him, Dean kissed his neck and pressed his lower body into Cas’ backside, still moving in time with the music.

Cas’s skin burned wherever Dean touched him. He arched back, rubbing his body on Dean’s, hungry for more, more contact. He felt Dean’s smile on his skin.

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He came back around, and slotted their bodies back together. Dean’s thigh pressed between his legs, adding pressure on his straining erection – and swallowed the hissing gasp at the sensation right out of Cas’ mouth. His lips had already been open and Dean opened them further with a determined sweep of his tongue.

Cas had thought about this often, tried to extrapolate from the few kisses he had shared with others how Dean would kiss. Would he be demanding or gentle? How would his lips feel, his tongue? Would it make Cas weak like the women in novels or movies? He had never understood how that was supposed to work. And now he knew the notion was clearly wrong. He didn’t feel weak. He had never felt so strong. He grabbed Dean’s jaw and used the new angle to kiss back with force. His tongue breached the plush lips he had stared at for years and he finally could taste the warmth behind them. Dean’s moan vibrated right through him and spurred him on. He curled his lower body into Dean’s, not sure if they were still following the beat of the song, because he didn’t hear it anymore.

The only sounds he registered were Dean’s throaty breaths and the soft rustling of fabric. Dean was a good kisser, Cas had always been sure of that. Now he showed him what wonderful things he could do with his lips and tongue and teeth. And Cas was willing to learn, trying himself and being rewarded by Dean’s urgent whimpers and hitching breaths.

Finally, Dean leaned back a bit and put some distance between them. He let his hand caress Cas’ front, slowly sinking to the top of his jeans. Cas followed the movement, mesmerized. He could see the outline of his erection through the material and he was sure he could see it getting thicker just because Dean’s fingertips were close enough to touch.

“Please, Dean.”

He watched the capable hands reach for the button, then slowly lower the zipper to free him. Seemed like the character he should represent didn’t care about underwear and Cas praised the unknown dancer for this choice. Because now Dean tugged down his jeans and let his fingertips play over his length before he closed his hand around it in one practiced move and began stroking. Cas could only stare at his erection vanishing in Dean’s palm. His bit his bottom lip trying – and failing – to hold in his raspy moans.

“That’s it, baby, let go,” Dean said in low voice, thick with arousal and something like awe.

And – just like that – maybe it was the endearment - a terrible thought began to form in the back of his mind and it took every ounce of will to stop Dean’s hand with his.

“Wait,” he whispered, shaking with desire and a sudden fear that cut so deep he didn’t know if he could heal from whatever was following his next words.

Their hands still wrapped around his slowly waning erection. Cas had to look away but couldn’t meet Dean’s gaze either. He focused on the player instead. The song had ended and the needled jumped on the far end of the vinyl.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean took his hand back, reaching down to get Cas’ trousers and putting them back up, clearly in an attempt to give him space.

And then, after another two minutes of silence, because that was just who he was, Dean seemed to jump to the conclusion that he did something wrong. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

Dean turned around while Cas closed the zipper and the buttons. When he was done, he let his eyes wander over Dean’s naked back, hunched over himself.

“I …,” he began, and stopped to choose his words. How could he explain the sudden fear that this was a one-time-thing? That Dean let all this happen only because they were caught in dream world?

“I need to know if it’s real, Dean. If this is real. If this is still real when we are home.” Cas gulped down the knot that built in his throat. He could battle armies of demons, but this – this moment was teaching him what fear truly was. To know he had put everything on the line and could lose it all in a second. How humans could stand that, every day, with their fragile lives, still was a mystery to him. But maybe they handled it like he did – with telling themselves that they just had to hold on another minute, another day, that it would all be worth it in the end.

Dean turned around slowly.

“What do you want it to be,” he deflected, looking at the scratched floor boards between their naked feet.

“I want this to be real. I want to love you so you can see it and feel it and not hide it anymore. And I want you to try to do the same.”

When Dean lifted his head, his face went through a whole array of emotions. Fear, just like Cas felt. Doubt if they could do this, if it wasn’t too late, if they weren’t too broken. And then, like a seedling finding its way to the light, hope. It transformed his face and made him look years younger. Cas had never in his while existence seen anything more beautiful.

“I don’t have to try to love you, angel.”

He took two steps that brought him right into Cas’ personal space. Cupping his face, he held Cas’ stare.

“Because I already do and I guess everybody except you can see that from space.”

 

* * *

 

He was back in the woods, disoriented but happy and more hopeful than he had been in a long, long time. He couldn't wait to see Cas again and take up their conversation where they left it. A future he never let himself dream about suddenly lay before him - open and full of wonderful possibilities.

When he crashed through another thicket, he heard the voice of a woman. Dean followed the sound, coming to an abrupt halt when a figure in white emerged from the mist.

“Mom?”

 

THE END

 

* * *

* * *

Find me on [tumblr](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com/).


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